


everything off the ice

by isntyet



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Daichi Rare Pair Week 2017, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Minor Angst, aka that figure skating au that no one wanted but here we are, i have no explaination okay, poor depiction of figure skating, some unresolved emotional tension, they're older but like early twenties ya feel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isntyet/pseuds/isntyet
Summary: Daichi Rare Pair Week 2017, Day three.He hadn’t realized someone else had taken the ice during his practice but sure enough, Daichi’s gaze lands on none other than Iwaizumi Hajime just as he’s finishing up a jump combination.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Daichi Rare Pair Week 2017, Day three. Late as usual.
> 
> Prompt: Colours / Video Games / Sports Swap AU. A smattering of all three sorta. Unbeta'd, as usualy, so please forgive typos and tense mistakes okay I tried.
> 
> This is a general disclaimer that I, myself, am not a figure skater and all I know about it is from rushed research, Yuri On Ice and my aunt who is an actual figure skater. So, this is probably a terrible depiction of actual figure skaters / skating. My apologies. Forgive me.
> 
> Also this was written while listening to Yuri on ICE & a piano cover of History Maker. 10/10 recommend listening while reading.

Daichi does everything he can not to think about the upcoming jump or count the days until competition. He knows that thinking about anything other than what he’s doing now is going to flub up his landing. At this rate he’ll be lucky to qualify for the Grand Prix at all if he keeps over rotating his triples and falling through his quads. It doesn’t help that he can feel Suga plucking the thoughts and anxieties right out of him from the east rink side, far too good at reading his hesitations than he’d like to admit.

He catches flashes of him whispering to Couch Ukai through the blur of a combination spin. When he comes out of it, he’s in the second half and there’s another step sequence and a backward glide into a Quad Flip that he still has little confidence in. He can hear the soft praise of the combination from off the ice but his mind blanks half way through the glide, brought back by the jolt up his right leg when his foot lands back on the ice after the jump. There’s a smattering of applause from his two onlookers that confirm a better outcome than he’d expected. A bittersweet pride ripples through him.

This gratification doesn’t come easy. He wishes he could remember it. Everything Daichi does is hard earned but it’d taken him a week to land that jump correctly _once_. Another two to land it any consecutive number of times at all, much less correctly. His success rate was still in the lower fifty percent by the time a month had rolled around. But that’s just how it is – Daichi has always had to try harder than his competitors to get to the same level. The only reason he has any merit as a professional is due to the steady foundation that years-worth of well ingrained combination spins and step sequences has given him. That and a determination driven by uncountable losses and the desire to snag at least one Grand Prix gold before retirement creeps up on him.

The hardest part of his routine is over – even though he has one quad left, it’s one he hasn’t missed in years. His mouth quirks into an almost smile, bittersweet as his still lingering pride. The relief of finishing a program doesn’t compare to his desire to stay on the ice. Just a little longer. His focus shatters twice as quickly as he gathered it though, the sound of Oikawa Tooru’s cheerful voice catching him off guard from the west rink side.

“Your free leg looks like crap!”

Daichi stumbles through the entrance to a jump, turning the supposed Quad Salchow into (just barely) a triple. The end of his program is swiftly forgotten as he skids to a stop somewhere off center from where he should be. Hands flatten against his thighs, knees bent as he catches his breath. It only takes a moment to realize the criticism wasn't directed at him.

He hadn’t realized someone else had taken the ice during his practice but sure enough, Daichi’s gaze lands on none other than Iwaizumi Hajime just as he’s finishing up a jump combination. In his opinion, Iwaizumi’s free leg is just fine. More than. He watches him break the formation of a spread eagle, to salute Oikawa’s complaint with his middle finger as if agreeing with Daichi’s silent defense of his form. A laugh pulls through his labored breathing, surprised by the display in a way he oughtn’t be.

He knows both of them well enough by now. Granted he only really knows Oikawa second hand from losing to him on the circuit and stories Iwaizumi tells him when they’re both in the same place at the same time. It doesn’t happen as often as one would think but often enough, considering they share a training rink and are technically neighbors as well as friends. It occurs to him now that he hadn’t even known Iwaizumi was back in town.

So, maybe not as well and friendly as he had thought.

The epiphany only smarts a bit before Daichi is marveling over an unplanned Quad Toe Loop that Iwaizumi seems to effortlessly throw onto the end of a second jump combination just to piss Oikawa off.

The thing about Oikawa’s loud demand for attention is that it usually overshadows the rest of them, painting even the other top two competitors in his featuring events lackluster. It’s so infrequently that Daichi gets to see anyone, much less Iwaizumi, on the ice without the pressure of beating Oikawa looming directly over them that he often forgets just how naturally talented Iwaizumi is as well. It is a mistake he will not make again after today.

Something like awe rivals the envy in his stomach.

He’s so busy admiring the footwork in Iwaizumi's step sequence that he barely catches the end of a grumbling shout from his coach about getting distracted. _Opps._ Daichi blanches a bit, turning to offer a full apologetic smile and half-hearted wave. Suga flashes him a look that Daichi doesn’t recognize but his stomach drops in the wake of it like he’s been caught doing something scandalous instead of being unfocused.

Ukai claps his hands, clearly frustrated by how slow he is to regain attention, “Run it again, Sawamura!”

“Yes, Coach!”

Daichi moves into position, careful to avoid both set of eyes on the west side of the ice.

 

They wrap up practice a couple hours later, a new record of five consecutive Quad Flips landed under Daichi’s belt. It doesn’t feel like much of an accomplishment, though, when he leaves the ice to the sound of Oikawa asking for one more run through because _Iwa-chan, your free leg still looks like crap_ and Iwaizumi threatening to take his skate off and run through Oikawa with it. He shouldn’t take it personally; he knows that. Honestly, he would laugh if the sound of their bickering didn’t smart the earlier wound of not knowing them (mostly Iwaizumi) as well as he thought he did. He makes a mental note to bring it up next time he catches Iwaizumi alone and then immediately crosses it off because _that’s stupid, I'm being stupid_. Daichi knows him and he knows _better_ than to turn a molehill into a mountain. He’s just tired. Tense. Insecure, though he’d never admit it out loud.

He tries to talk himself down: It’s not like he needed to know. Not to mention, he would obviously be informed by their appearance here. It wasn’t as if Iwaizumi was going to disappear. What does it matter if no one told him directly even though Daichi goes out of his way to drop in and say hello every time he’s returned from an event? He hadn’t really expected Iwaizumi to return that gesture. So what if Daichi had to find out from an internet article that Oikawa was taking a season off due to his knee injury and using that off time to coach Iwaizumi?

Everything on the ice is competition. Daichi knows competition comes first.

The door to the locker room slams shut behind him and he winces at the mistake of his own strength. Fingers curl over his knees and he waits patiently until they stop shaking to untie his skates and slip into sneakers. He feet ache a silent complaint but he's had worse. He ignores them. Daichi moves to the floor to start warm down stretches when the door opens, leaving him privy to the tail end of Oikawa’s _rude, Iwa-chan_ before it clicks closed again. This time Iwaizumi is on his side of it. He only pauses for a second at the realization that Daichi is still there. His greeting comes as a wordless nod.

A pettier man wouldn’t return it but Daichi prides himself on the fact that he is not one petty men, if only by way of nodding silently back. He does, however, cut his stretches short with every intention of running the five blocks from the rink to his apartment complex before Iwaizumi can add insult to the injury by ignoring his usual offer to go home together. That is, until he watches Iwaizumi put his weight back on his feet after taking off his skates and hears the involuntary _hiss_ of pain that follows.

Daichi’s hand drops his bag back on the bench, knowing all too well the agony that comes from bruises not fully formed on top of bruises that haven’t healed yet. It’s a novice mistake; the mark of pushing oneself too hard.

The words are out of his mouth before he can help himself, “You’re going to end up like Oikawa if you keep at it like that.”

The statement was born of concern but even Daichi hears the bite in his voice. He immediately feels guilty for how low below the belt that blow must hit. Worse, when he sees several emotions flash across Iwaizumi’s face before it settles on something like guarded defensiveness, his features tight.

“That wasn’t – I didn’t mean… It came out wrong.” Silence washes over him as he stumbles for an explanation, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. Heat rushes to the tips of his ears, the crests of his cheeks.

Iwaizumi shakes his head though, casting only half a glare in Daichi’s direction. He speaks clearly, the edge in his voice much duller than probably warranted, “You’re not wrong, Daichi.” The familiar use of his name sans a formal suffix, or any for that matter, makes Daichi’s fingers curl in, biting at the soft flesh of his palms. Friends, he remembers. Despite his previously bitter thoughts. A complicated emotion swells in the pit of his stomach as Iwaizumi’s expression contorts, switching into something a bit more challenging and thrice more determined than Daichi can ever recall having seen him. Their eyes lock, the space of two benches between them seeming no distance at all. All the air disappears from the room and Daichi is almost certain that the tension is going to break in the form of Iwaizumi’s fist impacting his face.

Instead it dissipates with an uptick at the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth. It takes five seconds for Daichi to realize it’s a smile; three more for any relief to flood through him; approximately another two for that relief to splinter again at the realization of his mistake. It’s not a smile but a _smirk_.

Iwaizumi hums his retort like they’re talking about the weather and not career ending injuries, “I have every intention of ending up just like Oikawa—” He isn’t given time to contemplate what he means by that: Iwaizumi tells him point blank, each of his words digging a little deeper into the hole of Daichi’s grave. “Grand Prix gold medalist.”

The world explodes in a stream of colours so profoundly indiscernible from one another that Daichi’s vision just goes blank. He hear’s Suga’s voice, a teasing whisper in the back of his mind: _triggered_. He blinks and it’s over.

They stare at each other, the room shifting from too small to even smaller before Iwaizumi laughs and everything instantaneously goes back to normal. Like nothing ever happened and no time has passed since the last time they were here, together. Daichi can’t keep himself from laughing, too, even through the dizziness of emotional whiplash.

“Come on, idiot. Let’s go home,” Iwaizumi claps a hand on his back on the way toward the door, pausing to hold it open for him.

Daichi is so stupid and so, _so_ relieved.

 

By the time they arrive back at the apartment complex twenty minutes later, Daichi has been well informed on all the happenings between when they saw each other last and when Iwaizumi got in from a prelim competition this morning. He hadn’t even had to ask. In return, he’d shared the struggle of landing his Quad Flip.

They separate in the hallway between their two flats on the pretense of much needed showers. Something curls up like a languid feline in Daichi’s stomach, kneading the muscles loose and hot. He thinks it’s hunger but doesn’t dwell too much on the sensation. Key still in his open door, Daichi turns to ask if he wants to join him for dinner but Iwaizumi beats him to it.

“I’ll see you in ten for take away and video games? Of course, that’s if you’re not afraid to defend your title as reining Mario Kart champ.”

Hunger or not, his guttural something purrs. “Might want to wait to shower than, Hajime, because I’ll just wipe the floor with you.” Daichi never did learn how to back down from a challenge.

A hand flutters over Iwaizumi’s heart, expression mock wounded, “Always dropping in the first name for the real trash talk. _You’re_ going to end up like Oikawa if you keep at it like that.”

“Mhm, as if you’d ever threaten to take your skate off and cut _me_ with it,” Daichi clucks his tongue against his teeth in the typical Oikawa fashion, a neat and showy _tch_.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Your free leg is crap, _Iwa-chan_.”

Daichi just manages to close the door before one of Iwaizumi’s sneakers smacks him in the face and it is by far his largest accomplishment of the day.

True to his word, Iwaizumi shows up ten minutes later, hair still damp from his shower and adorning a soft looking hooded sweatshirt and the same pair of joggers that Daichi has on but in maroon instead of black. Daichi hums to himself at the observation and goes about muddling around the kitchen for the take out menu from their previously determined mutual favourite sushi place. The game is already set up and waiting for them, sound muted as always in preparation for their usual soundtrack of smack talking each other.

“You should have saved the number into your phone,” Iwaizumi chides from where he’s slung himself across three quarters of the couch, the remark well-worn by familiar use.

“Apparently I like to suffer. It’s why I keep you around,” is just as easy off Daichi’s tongue as if queued up by expectation. He makes a noise of approval when he finds the battered menu and doesn’t bother asking what Iwaizumi wants before calling to place the order. It never changes. Half way through the call, Daichi migrates toward the sofa and touches the side of Iwaizumi’s shoulder with his knee. The taller man lifts up enough for Daichi to sit down and immediately slumps back to use Daichi’s thigh as a pillow, hood pulled up for extra comfort. Daichi’s arm rests across Iwaizumi’s chest when the call ends, cell phone tossed carelessly onto the coffee table.

“Thirty-five minutes,” Iwaizumi guesses, canting his chin up a bit to get a better view, though upside down, of Daichi’s face. He holds up one of the wireless controllers for him.

“Close, but no cigar,” Daichi replies, taking the game controller and shifting to accommodate for Iwaizumi’s comfort when he rolls on his side to see the screen. The angle is going to put him at a disadvantage but Daichi figures it doesn’t matter. They never get competitive until after their hunger is satisfied.

“More or less?”

“More.”

“Forty, then.”

“Mm.”

They idly chit chat their way through character and track selections. Peach and Daisy. Mirror, 150ccs. All 32 races. This too, never changes.

What does, however, is the way Iwaizumi hits pause on the thirteenth race and sits up as if something very serious has just occurred to him. Daichi half expects that he just needs to use the bathroom or something but Iwaizumi’s brows knot together and silence any notion that what is going to come out of his mouth next is anything typical. He doesn’t know what Iwaizumi is searching for in his expression but Daichi waits patiently, only veiling his slight concern. If Iwaizumi thinks he’s worried him, he’ll hold back.

After a beat and breath more than Daichi is strictly comfortable with it appears that whatever Iwaizumi was looking for, he finds because his edges soften into all candor when he opens his mouth. He doesn’t waste any more time getting to the point, “Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio are making their senior debuts.”

It is so far from anything Daichi expected but he doesn’t need more than a second to catch up. The information isn’t news to him but out of Iwaizumi’s mouth it forms new meaning. The second name is the one that holds severe weight. They’re both insanely talented but Kageyama is _personal_.

Lips press into a thin line, knowing. It is at once a confession and an explanation. The reason Iwaizumi hasn’t been around as much, the reason he’s working so hard, the reason Oikawa is his coach; the reason Oikawa worked himself into injury in the first place.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa were as close to brothers as Suga and himself. Closer, maybe. One’s rivalry was just as much the other’s. Daichi mentally kicks himself for not putting two and two together before. How unintentionally cruel and _correct_ he had been to say Iwaizumi would end up like Oikawa at the rate he was going.

“You will not win if you put that kind of pressure on yourself.” Iwaizumi’s shoulders roll back at that, squaring up for an argument but Daichi cuts a look in his direction that stops his momentum and picks out his next words carefully, “It does not matter how badly you want it, if you get hurt.” 

This time the blow is intentional. K.O. Squared shoulders slump _just_. Daichi wraps an arm around them, unable to bear the sight of it. He doesn’t want to be right but they both know he is. A soft thump signals the drop of Iwaizumi’s forehead against the side of Daichi’s jaw, breath breaking over his collarbone. Teeth follow shortly after, a weak denial that he’s been defeated. Daichi shivers and lets him have that.

They stay there, Iwaizumi’s face burrowed in Daichi’s neck and Daichi’s arm looped around him until the delivery guy rings the doorbell.

**Author's Note:**

> whispers quietly into the void: do i continue it though
> 
> You can find me at [isntyet](http://isntyet.tumblr.com) & [awhkaashi](http://awhkaashi.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
